TLC's My Strange Addictionis back for a fourth season, and that is terrific because it such a hilarious show. On it, nothing is sacred, not even the concept of addiction, which is stretched to include things that you don't need a degree in addicitionology to know are not real addictions—if growing one's fingernails and toenails are addictions, they are the slowest release capsules possible. This may be too irreverent and insensitive for some, but I read it as media criticism: Reality TV is not the best source of addiction information. At times, though the show deals with real people (presumably) telling their true stories, it reads as parody.

Twenty-year-old Mark is the Bill Henrickson of a polyamorous compound of inflatable pool toys. One…
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This is a show not just about strange addictions, but about the public's addiction to strangeness. It's a platform for weird people to tell their weird stories, hitting at the essence of reality TV with very little pretension. At this point, there is a format: the first segment has people describing their addictions, the second has people coming out to a friend or relative (or focuses on the concern of an already in-the-know relative) and the third features them meeting with an expert. Generally, the episode ends with the strange addict rejecting advice and holding onto his or her addiction, which can be as whatever as carrying around a pillow or as serious as huffing gasoline dozens of times a day.

The supercut above focuses on the dramatic-chimpmunking of aforementioned friends and family when the strange addicts come out to them. This show is so self-aware, it includes a Greek chorus of furrowed brows.